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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25382560">Dig Down</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/YamiSnuffles/pseuds/YamiSnuffles'>YamiSnuffles</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Too Much of a Good Thing [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Both Angels, Alternate Universe - Crowley Didn't Fall (Good Omens), Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Historical Inaccuracy, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Spanish Inquisition</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:22:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,385</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25382560</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/YamiSnuffles/pseuds/YamiSnuffles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hastur angled himself to stop Crowley. He would have grabbed him if Crowley hadn’t already been on the defensive and ready to slip away. “Tell me how you did it? How’d you talk the humans into this Inquisition in Spain?”<br/>-<br/>Hell comes to congratulate Crowley on the Spanish Inquisition. When Crowley's curiosity gets the better of him, he ends of shaken to the core.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Too Much of a Good Thing [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1527806</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>75</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Dig Down</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Just as a note, no torture is actively described but it is a main theme of this sections. It's also probably a bit more hurt than comfort.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“You, my friend, are a terrible model.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley arched an eyebrow at Leonardo. “What? How can anyone be a terrible model? All I have to do is sit about. Maybe you’re just a terrible artist.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe so.” Leonardo laughed and set his sketch aside. “But I would hardly call what you do sitting.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley had one foot tucked underneath him and the other thrown over the arm of the chair. He was reasonably certain he hadn’t started in this position. He’d done his best to channel Aziraphale, back straight and hands folded neatly on his lap, when first Leonardo had started his drawing. He flung both of his legs out and used the momentum to stand. His floor length braid swung pendulously behind him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t help it,” he said with an easy shrug. “Sitting around that long is unnatural.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Leonardo gave him an appraising look. “What’s unnatural is the way you walk.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley stilled instantly. “What’s wrong with the way I walk?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t say it was wrong. Really, it’s quite pleasant to watch but it does make me long to see the muscle and bone beneath. There is certainly something intriguing going on there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale had commented a few times on the way he walked. Then again, Aziraphale had also commented on his hands, his nose, his hair, his eye, his freckles, his knees, his teeth, and everything else about him. To hear it from another, he worried he didn’t look as convincingly human as he hoped. It made him conscious of every step to a degree that very nearly caused him to trip. He saved himself by leaning against the table where Leonardo’s sketch had been cast aside.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He plucked the red chalk drawing up between long, spindly, ostensibly human fingers and examined it with eyes he knew were not a color found amongst mortal men. The face was cleverly rendered but everything from the shoulders down was decidedly more gestural.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mind if I take this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Leonardo dismissed the image with a wave. “Go right ahead. I can hardly use it for anything, though perhaps you can repay me by sitting for a portrait. Your face makes for a good study, even if the rest of you refuses to behave. You’d make an interesting angel, I think.” When Crowley sputtered incoherently in response, Leonardo laughed again. “A piece I was commissioned for,” he explained. “Or, part of one, anyway. For now, I have other work to do and I’m sure you’re eager to get back to </span>
  <em>
    <span>your </span>
  </em>
  <span>angel.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley felt his cheeks burn. Rather than try for a reply he knew would only come out as a garbled mess, he carefully rolled up the drawing and bobbed his head in thanks. “Well, whenever you want to get that portrait done, you know where to find me,” he said as he hastily made his exit from the studio. He could only take so much embarrassment in one day and he was sure Aziraphale had stored some up for him back at their villa.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once he was out of the busy streets of Milan, he snapped his fingers. A note appeared, tucked into the drawing. </span>
  <em>
    <span>A gift from our mutual friend, </span>
  </em>
  <span>it read,</span>
  <em>
    <span> to help you anticipate my return home</span>
  </em>
  <span>. A grin and another snap sent it ahead.  He could have gone with it but he enjoyed walking the Italian countryside. It put him in mind of breathless, startled confessions of love and kisses under the stars that added a spring to his step. He couldn’t bring himself to worry if that walk was passably human or not. He was all but skipping down the sun baked road when the smell of something putrid wafted through the summer air. He skidded to a halt just in time to avoid tripping over Hastur as he rose up through the hard packed dirt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley scowled. He should have miracled himself home and saved himself the trouble. He could very well still leave but if Hastur was bothering him, it was for a reason. It always was. It was also always something miserable that he didn’t want Aziraphale dragged into. He’d had a few hundred year’s peace after their initial meeting and, while Hastur hadn’t come around with any more job offers, he usually bore information. Wretched, gut wriggling stuff that Crowley was probably better off not knowing but could never seem to resist.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had enough time to collect himself, to cross his arms and pretend at calm. Annoyance. He knew he could fight if he needed but he really preferred not to. Luckily it had been some time since a demon had forced him to it. Chances were today would be no different. All the same, he’d keep himself wound and ready, should it come to it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hastur emerged fully with a sneer already on his face. Crowley resisted the urge to push him right back down into the earth and instead asked, “What do you want? You’re sort of ruining my attempt to enjoy the fresh air.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The corners of Hastur’s mouth widened slow and sloppily as the filth he reeked of until it formed a too wide smile. “Just came to congratulate you, Crowley. You’ve really outdone yourself this time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley merely blinked. He couldn’t think of anything of note that he’d done in the past couple of centuries. Really, he’d been remarkably good, even by his own sometimes nebulous standards. He’d helped inspire a saint or two, been a patron of the arts, and had handed out the occasional blessing. Mostly he whiled away the time with Aziraphale, wherever they found themselves living as Aziraphale did jobs for Heaven. He’d even taken on a few of Aziraphale’s jobs, first as a way to let Aziraphale chase his own pursuits and then simply because he’d wanted to. Aside from helping a fellow angel skip work, he’d practically been a model angel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hit your head on the way up from Hell, did you? I haven’t done anything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t be so modest. Weaponizing questions, really. Everyone Downstairs is impressed with this one. I’m almost jealous.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley felt a prickling down his spine. Something about this put his teeth on edge. Other than the obvious, that it was Hastur speaking to him, he didn’t know what it was about this that made him so uneasy. He wanted urgently to be home with Aziraphale. It wasn’t just the usual desire to be with his husband but something deeper than his bones. Deep as his very essence. This was the sort of warning urge that had sent him deep into the stars, once upon a time, a warning that things would shift irreparably if he did not act.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shook the stiffness from his limbs. No need to be tense. No need to run. It was just Hastur and whatever he was babbling about. He hadn’t done anything- </span>
  <em>
    <span>he really hadn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>- and nothing the demon said would change that. He took a step to walk around the demon. “If you’re done…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hastur angled himself to stop Crowley. He would have grabbed him if Crowley hadn’t already been on the defensive and ready to slip away. “Tell me how you did it? How’d you talk the humans into this Inquisition in Spain?”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Crowley wasn’t sure what day it was. He wasn’t sure where he was but the near empty bottle in his hand implied a tavern or something of the sort. Usually drinks were poured into cups, though, so there was a chance he’d grabbed a bottle and taken it somewhere. That, or someone had let him simply drink from the bottle. Either way, probably not any sort of fine establishment. He wasn’t sure if he felt good or bad, either, but that was by design— don’t feel anything, don’t think. Seemed to be working fantastically judging by the fact that he could neither see, sit, nor think straight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There you are.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That voice was familiar. Made something warm settle into the sloshing sea of alcohol in his system. “Here I am,” he agreed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Perhaps you should stop drinking a moment and look at me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley sank down to embrace the bottle. The glass was cool against the side of his face. It felt nice. “Nah. Think I’ll just stay like this,” he said. Or, tried to say, judging by the slurred garble that slipped out of his mouth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a long sigh. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Crowley</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bottle was carefully pried from his grip. He tried to resist, muttered a few choice curses, but was easily left slumped against his own folded arms. A gentle hand landed on his right elbow and when he turned to look at it, a face came into view. It took a moment for him to focus well enough to bring any of the features clarity but it could have stayed a bright, blessed blur and he would have known that face anywhere.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He picked up his head and beamed. “Ziraphale, s’good to see you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m surprised you can see anything, judging by the state of you. Why don’t we get you home?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley shook his head. He abruptly stopped when the whole world seemed to shake with it. “Nope. Too drunk. Would probably discorpra- discapor- die if I tried a miracle.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well then, why don’t you sober up?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale’s voice was low, sharp, and even. It was the sort of voice that in any other situation would have had Crowley worried but he’d done too good a job of getting rid of silly things like worries at least half a dozen bottles ago. Maybe more. He’d lost track after the first five or fifteen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Told you,” he said, resting his chin in the palm of one hand, “no miracles. B’sides, I don’t wanna.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale stared at him. “You don’t want to?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nope.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley popped the ‘p’ and then repeated the sound until he fell into a fit of giggles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then allow me—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everything was too murky for Crowley to remember why exactly the idea of sobering up sent his heart pounding and his stomach plummeting but he instantly snatched Aziraphale’s wrist to stop it from happening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you really feel so strongly about it, I won’t. Can you at least tell me why?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley opened his mouth. Closed it. Shook his head. Every time he reached toward the source of that feeling, something fractured and threatened to fall away completely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He heard another long sigh. An arm wrapped around his back and another under his legs. Suddenly he was being carried. The lift into the air made him dizzy. He buried his face in Aziraphale’s chest. His shirt smelled nice. Like… flowers or something. Something pretty and nice. Like Aziraphale.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You smell nice.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m glad,” Aziraphale replied flatly. “Do you have a room?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dunno.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t— where have you been staying all this time?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dunno. Has it been a long time?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yet another sigh. Crowley felt like he should start taking count.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s been over a week since I expected you back.” They started moving and Crowley had to squeeze his eyes shut to stop feeling dizzy. “Well then, if you don’t have a room and you won’t let me sober you up, what do you say to me bringing us both back home?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Home. For much of his existence that had been a moving target with Aziraphale as a constant center. It didn’t need to be a physical place, the heart of it would always exist someplace beyond, but at the moment it was. More importantly, it was somewhere away from here. Whether he could articulate why he didn’t want to be here any longer, he knew how happy he was at the thought of leaving, particularly in Aziraphale’s arms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley hummed appreciatively and pressed in as close as he was able. There would always be a part of him that worried he would forget this form if he shifted back into his serpentine one but he missed the simplicity of it. He could never feel quite so much as a snake and he could instead rest easier, coiled around Aziraphale’s shoulders. Maybe he still would, when he sobered. He knew that Aziraphale would love him no matter his shape. It might not be better but it would be easier and, at the moment, that sounded very tempting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a feeling of compression and then expansion as a miracle sent them both home. Instantly Crowley was inundated by the rich smell of oak from Aziraphale’s heavy wooden desk with a whiff on top of ink and parchment. He remembered the sound of wind rustling through the olive trees and the scratch of a quill as Aziraphale passed the nights writing while Crowley slept. Or tried to, anyhow. Oftentimes he would lay with one eye open and watch Aziraphale work by candlelight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He thought of those nights as Aziraphale laid him on a bed that was far more comfortable than it had any right to be. Aziraphale took a seat on the edge of the mattress. Apparently neither of them was willing to break the silence that had fallen between them. Instead, Aziraphale quietly ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair. Or tried, as he got caught in hair that had managed to tangle despite being braided.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“When was the last time you brushed your hair?” Aziraphale asked as he drew his hand back to himself. “Or bathed? Or did anything to care for yourself?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You said I’ve been gone over a week? Then, uh, yeah. Probably something like that. S’not like we </span>
  <em>
    <span>need </span>
  </em>
  <span>to bathe or anything. Not like humans do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You do if you’re going to soak yourself in alcohol and drunken humans.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley groaned and buried his face in a pillow. As it happened, an angel’s metabolism didn’t allow for passing out drunk, or that had been his experience over the last however many days of attempting to reach blissful oblivion. Maybe he could sleep, though. That might be alright.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He forgot why he’d been avoiding sleep until it overcame him. He’d gotten complacent since his marriage to Aziraphale. Even in the worst of times, life with his Principality had been a waking dream and the sleeping world had shaped itself accordingly. But the world wasn’t painted in only soft shades of cream and powdery blue, sometimes it was the harsh, steely grey of cruel human ingenuity or the slick scarlet shine of blood. The blood wouldn’t wash from his hands no matter how ferociously he scrubbed. It gathered under his nails, stained his skin, and blemished the band of gold around his finger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then there were the screams. They were never ending. If he pressed his palms tight as he could over his ears, they still rattled through his bones. He suspected he would continue hearing them even if he banished his ears altogether with a miracle. He just wanted them to stop. He screamed for them to stop. He begged and pleaded like he had for little else in his long existence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Silence returned with two words. “Wake up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley’s eyes snapped open. He breathed in gulps through a raw and ragged throat. He looked impulsively at his hands but they were clean. The screams had been his own, the blood imagined, and yet he couldn’t seem to free himself of the sensation of either. He rubbed senselessly at his forearms until a pair of arms encircled him like a vice and forced him to stop.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s alright, dearest. You’re alright.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s alright? I’m alright?” he repeated, each statement transforming into a question in the mouth of a non-believer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. I’m here. You’re safe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This time there was no doubt. There never would be, not in Aziraphale. He relaxed into Aziraphale’s arms.  “Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How about a bath?” A snap and the scent of lavender filled the suddenly humid air. “I’ll take care of it. All you’ll have to do is relax.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley let out a hollow puff of laughter. “Is that all?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale gripped him by the shoulders and sat him up so that they were face to face. There were tears obscuring his storm grey eyes. “Then you don’t need to do even that. Simply let me take care of you as best I can, alright?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley nodded when his throat tightened too much to make a reply. He loathed seeing Aziraphale cry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale helped him to his feet and out of his clothes. Each article of clothing was removed with more care than it deserved, stiff and smelling as it all did of a week’s worth of drinking in whatever establishment would have him. If he thought too closely on that he was liable to consider once more what had driven him to drink in the first place and, for Aziraphale’s sake, he was determined to at least try to relax.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He set his eyes on their bath. It was a lovely thing made of delicate white marble. Carved on the outside were scenes of angels dancing and drinking and generally having a lot more fun than real ones did. Bathing came and went in vogue with humans, but Aziraphale had developed a special fondness for it in Rome and so they’d kept a private bath wherever they settled since. Such, he supposed, was the luxury of not worrying whether the locals had plumbing anymore or not. One quick miracle and they had a full tub with steam that rolled in easy clouds off the surface.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come now,” Azirphale said as he took one of Crowley’s hands, “let’s see if this helps you any.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley let Aziraphale lead him to the bathtub and then climbed in without letting go of Aziraphale’s hand until he’d lowered himself most of the way down. Aziraphale carefully undid the braided hair that trailed after Crowley like a train. Once done, he gathered it up into a careful coil and deposited it in the water with Crowley. The water rose to the edge but didn’t spill over. It was just enough for Crowley and not a drop more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley let out a long, trembling breath as the hot water worked its wonders on him. He wasn’t quite as fond of bathing as Aziraphale but he did very much enjoy the act of being bathed. It was a bit like sleeping, without the danger of nightmares. Instead it was the very best sort of dream, shaped by the one he loved the most. Strong, calloused hands worked at the tense muscles in his shoulders and scented water poured over his head from a glittering copper vessel. The ritual of it was a comfort bordering on the sacred.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale rubbed a small dab of scented oil on Crowley’s temples. “I got Leonardo’s sketch,” he said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I should hope so,” Crowley replied, “or I would have to worry my miracles are starting to go awry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale nudged Crowley into a seated position so that he could better comb out water loosened tangles. “It was quite lovely. I do hope that you told him that and that you thanked him for his patience. I could tell you were as restless as ever at your sitting.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Er—” Had he thanked Leonardo? He couldn’t remember. “Oh! He asked me to come back for a proper portrait. Said I’d make a good angel.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale laughed softly. “At least someone thinks so.” The comb hit a snag and was replaced for a moment by careful fingers. “I don’t know how you managed this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dunno.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You do have a talent for finding trouble.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When one segment was finished, Aziraphale moved to the next and the next in meticulous fashion. Crowley’s eyes fell closed as he sank into the comfortable rhythm of it. He felt like a bit of flotsam tossing gently in the waves without a care in the world. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose this hair is what put Leonardo in mind of angels,” Aziraphale continued. “I don’t think you’ve had it this long since Eden.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley opened his eyes again as he pulled himself from his quiet reverie. “I mean, I was a snake for quite a while after that, so hair was sort of off the metaphorical table.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Indeed. But… it’s nice. I like it quite a bit when it’s this long. Of course you know how I love it no matter the length—” Crowley ignored the burn in his cheeks and Aziraphale continued to comb. “—but it’s nice to remember simpler times.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For the, what, handful of minutes we had them?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Even so.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Simpler times. Crowley hardly remembered them. Yes, he’d forever recall his first sight of the delightfully soft Principality, high on the eastern wall of Eden, when he’d been nothing more than an out of place Seraph with perhaps a few too many questions on his lips. But any memory of that time was overshadowed by what came after. And then what came after that. And after that. And on and on and on despite all the good mixed in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley pulled his knees up and hugged them close. “Hey, so, uh, with my rude awakening earlier, I think I’ve sobered up enough to, er…” He ran his tongue over his teeth and pressed extra hard on his left incisor, which had always run a bit sharper. He didn’t want to talk about it but it was a dark and hungry secret that he worried would devour him from the inside out if he didn’t. “I remember everything, if you wanna hear about it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale stilled for a moment and then continued combing Crowley’s hair. “Only if you want. You can take whatever time you need.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I should— I want to now. Maybe then I can start to forget without an ocean of alcohol to help me along.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley squeezed his eyes shut but when he did, he could see that faces of humans contorted beyond recognition by unfathomable pain. It was no wonder Hell was impressed. The humans were up here serving up the sort of punishments even demons might not have dreamed of. He looked instead at his hands beneath the surface of the water and reminded himself that they were not stained in blood. He tried to remind himself also that they were clean of any guilt in this, but he was less successful on that count.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So,” he continued when Aziraphale didn’t make any response, “ran into Hastur on the way home.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What did that wretched demon do this time? If he’s the one that caused all this, I’ll… I’ll… well, let me think on it but it will be suitably ghastly, I assure you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, it’s not— he didn’t do anything. Well, guess he did but not like that. Not that I’m against the idea of you laying down some holy wrath on him, if you’re so inclined. But I’m—” Water splashed as he gestured broadly at himself. “Because, well, how much have you heard about the Spanish Inquisition?” He only waited half a heartbeat before charging on. “Hell thinks I cooked it up, since it’s all being done in Her name and with the whole, you know, inquisitive nature of it. Aziraphale, it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>awful</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He emptied his lungs into that word and still it didn’t seem to be enough. “Monstrous. Wretched. Abominable. Really, really… bad. I’d say hellish but apparently they hadn’t even thought up half the things these humans have. Got the impression they’re taking notes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.” Aziraphale’s voice sounded so small behind him. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, Crowley</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Why did you go look?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Had to, didn’t I? If everyone thinks I did it, I should at least know what I’m getting my name on.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale’s hands fell away from Crowley’s hair as he rushed around to the side of the bath. “But you didn’t have anything to do with it! You </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>you didn’t, my dear, so why torment yourself over what a pitiable bunch of damned creatures think?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, it’s not like they’re completely out of bounds thinking I’d gone and corrupted the humans again, are they?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not— Crowley, how many times are we going to have to have this argument? You can’t take all of humanity’s sins on your shoulders.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can try.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You certainly can and I know that </span>
  <em>
    <span>you do</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but I wish you wouldn’t. The humans will do whatever they will do, for good or ill. You know that. Not even the Almighty can stop that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why the blazes not?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale froze except for a sudden fluttering of his lashes. “What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why can’t She put a stop to this? They’re committing atrocities in Her name. She’s fucking well put a foot down in the past, drowning a whole load of people and—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Stop</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” The walls of the villa shook at the command and for a moment Aziraphale seemed much larger. He shrank back down as he grabbed either side of Crowley’s face. “Stop, please. Not another word like that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale crushed their lips together in a fierce kiss. He kept kissing until Crowley no longer had the mind or breath to argue further.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Aziraphale said once more. “Not this. If there’s one thing in the entirety of existence you don’t question, let it be this. For me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley could feel the drip of tears onto bath wet skin as their foreheads pressed together. He wanted for all the world to agree to that. Even being able to lie about it felt like it would be a weight off his shoulders. His life— their lives— would be so much easier if he could. If he could just trust in whatever damned plan there was, he might not have spent the last week drunk out of his mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulled back enough to look Aziraphale in the eyes and frowned at what he saw. “I made you cry again.” He bent forward and kissed the tear tracks off round, ruddy cheeks. “I’m sorry, angel. I won’t say anything like that again. Not to you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale’s brows lowered over watery eyes. “Not to anyone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. Not to anyone.” Crowley sank into the bath and deeper into himself with a hunch of his shoulders. “I promise I’ll try not to even think on it, not ever again. I just want to be with you and to be happy with that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale laced their left hands together so that their rings pressed together. “You have me and you always will.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you're wondering about the layout of their house, I imagine the longer they're together, the freer they are with arranging things instead of sticking as much to human layouts. In this case, they've set things up so their bedroom is about a third of the villa, with many of their creature comforts gathered in one place. It has a large bed for Crowley and Aziraphale's desk, where he can both read and transcribe while Crowley sleeps. The bath is opposite the bed. Basically, imagine a place that is very comfortable and reflective of their current relationship.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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